I've worked fucking hard for this, and finally, I am back in the jeans I was wearing in the summer of '13.
It's taken the better part of three months, and I have [mostly very much] dieted like a freak and worked out like I'm training for a marathon.
And I have dropped two pants sizes. And lost 7 kilos. That's, like, a stone in old money.
Someone told me my hips would never be the same [sadly true], but I could be the proud new owner of a gap - a GAP - if I played my workout right. Because when your hips realign for birth, they widen out like a runway, so while you're wide, you might adopt a new peephole between your thighs.
And today, in my new jeans, I took pictures of my crotch in the gym changing room, because I found my freakin' gap, people.
My size 10s!
Say hello to my teensy weensy Gap.
For a while I was wearing a sturdy size 14 over my rump, and gradually whittled down to the pants sitting folded in the bottom of my drawer like secret presents I'm not allowed to open until an important day.
It's good to feel strong and fit again. This is what I did - give or take - for three months, and will largely continue to do so for the foreseeable future.
There's no secret method, and no quick fix. I lost the weight slowly, simply by moving more and eating less.
Gym 3 x a week. Mixture of training, including stop-start sprinting, power walking up tough gradients, endurance running.
Cross-trainer, mixture of fast and slow.
Weights and machines: arms, legs, but mostly legs.
Calorie-controlled diet. One starch/carb a day.
High protein lunch, lots of veg.
Fruit breakfast or high protein breakfast with a juice and soup for lunch.
Veg and protein supper.
Friday I'd have a treat - massive piece of cake. Sometimes I'd have a treat more than that. I'd be lying if I said I didn't.
I go out once in the week to meet up with friends or attend a work do, so factor in a few glasses of wine and things like tapas platters and finger foods.
On weekends, the diet slips a bit - we go out for brunch, or the Brit makes a fry-up, or we have a takeaway or something. Basically, weekends were made for falling off the wagon.
Ideally, I'd love to lose just one or two more kilos if I can. That would make me Bikini Ready not just Size Ten Jeans Ready. But given I ate a massive Easter Egg the shape of a cock (as in chicken, before you get tetchy) last night (I thoroughly blame my mother-in-law for giving us this massive chocolate beast and trying to make
I'm due to be in Spain in a couple of weeks, (sangria...chorizo....varied and beautiful cured hams...manchego cheese...), and would like my arss to see the light of the actual sun, so I aim to at least try and strut around in a bikini on a rooftop hotel.
that is the aim, anyway.
For now, I'm going to a gay bar with my cousin and Best Irish Gay Friend tonight to celebrate the fact that the sun has come out in this country finally. Hoorah.